


The Daily Saga

by lastaneon



Series: Spooky Radio Stations (The Brightly Family) [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Beholding (The Magnus Archives) - Freeform, Character Death, Creepy, Fear, Gen, Horror, POV Third Person Omniscient, Podfic Welcome, Psychological Horror, Screenplay/Script Format, Spooky, Surreal, The Eye (The Magnus Archives) - Freeform, Transcript Format, being watched, i myself will definitely be podficcing this, i wrote this over many sleepless nights, literal heart problems, please check notes at the beginning for more detailed cws, please let me know if i need to fix anything, police (at the end), the police make an arrest, typical paranoia around the beholding/the eye, we can call this spooky because jon isn't in charge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastaneon/pseuds/lastaneon
Summary: Broadcast of November 19th, 2016."Hello, and welcome back to The Daily Saga. I’m your host, Mr. Bright, and I am thrilled for you to be joining me again. We have a great selection of stories tonight, and I’m sure you’ll love them. Be sure to listen closely; as always, one contains a lesson that should be learned."(please check notes at beginning for cws)
Series: Spooky Radio Stations (The Brightly Family) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816237
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Daily Saga

**Author's Note:**

> cws:
> 
> in general: themes of being watched (it's the beholding so yeah).
> 
> story 2 (titled Laundry): washing blood off of clothes; briefly implied money laundering; briefly implied murder.
> 
> story 3 (titled Heartfelt): character dies of sudden cardiac arrest; description of effects of sudden cardiac arrest; family loss.
> 
> story 4 (titled Sounds): brief mention of ambulance; subject is aware that they are being watched; paranoia about being watched/followed.
> 
> ending section (starts at "the door to the studio creaks open"): police are there and they make an arrest; it's not violent, but please take care of yourself.
> 
> (please let me know if i missed any warning so i can fix it. thank you!)

_(static as radio tunes in. music plays softly, and continues under the following:)_

**[AVERY]** Hello, and welcome back to The Daily Saga. I’m your host, Mr. Bright, and I am thrilled for you to be joining me again. We have a great selection of stories tonight, and I’m sure you’ll love them. Be sure to listen closely; as always, one contains a lesson that should be learned. Our first tale is titled: A Book.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly louder before quieting back.)_

Samuel opens a book. He is not certain what book it is, only that the book has words. He cannot read the words. The letters are made of shapes that he does not recognize; he can only guess at what they say. But it is his book, and that is enough for him.

It is not enough for his mother. His mother can read the book. His mother won’t tell him what it says. She will tell him that he should be able to read it himself. That he couldn’t have made it to secondary school without being able to read. That he is old enough to know how to read. And he is. And he does. He loves to read. He just can’t read the books that are his.

Today he discovered something, though: he can read his books through the mirror. Not just any mirror. It has to be the one above the fireplace. The text is backwards, but the letters make sense. He can see the words.

He has read seven of his books today for the first time.

He plods out of his room and towards the flickering fire, eyes locked on the mirror as he steps towards it.

It says just what all of the others so far have said, the words repeating over and over across each page:

“It is not too late.”

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly louder before quieting back)_

Our second tale is titled: Laundry.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

Kelly did the laundry today. Some of the pieces had to be washed by hand. Something red that she could only guess was ketchup was rubbed into her husband’s shirtsleeve. She had chuckled when she first noticed it, barely visible in shadow, but a bright splotch on the white fabric in the lights of the laundry room. He must have tried to get it out so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

The chuckles had tapered off as the minutes ticked by, her hands cramping with the scrubbing it took to eventually get it out. Every time she thought it had finally got out, the suds rinsed away to reveal that it was still there. Reducing. But still there.

But she got the stain out, and then the only thing odd about the shirt was how wet it was.

Now it has dried, she is hanging up with his other shirts. She leafs through them, thinking about how often he spills ketchup on his shirt. A fond smile graces her lips. Each of the shirts had had those stains on them at some point. The pink had had a splotch beside a button, the blue on the collar, that pale yellow one on the back. And each one, he had obviously tried to remove it.

Well, each one except for the black one. She had found that one lightly crusted all over, as if he hadn’t expected her to see the stains across the dark fabric. And they were harder to see; she might not have noticed at all if the texture hadn’t been so far from what a dress shirt should feel like.

She finds herself chuckling lightly at the memory of his horror-stricken face when he saw her rinsing the red streams off of it. How sweet he was... at the thought of her having to wash it for him, he took such care from then on to try and get it out himself.

She turns to pick up the pile of socks, and slides them neatly into the drawer.

Kelly did the laundry today.

Someone found out that Kelly’s husband launders something else today.

They don’t know anymore.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

Our third tale is titled: Heartfelt.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

For the past two hours, Luanne had been ignoring the pain in her chest, and then in her jaw and arm as it spread. She had taken a bit of a nasty fall earlier that day getting the rice cooker from the top shelf, but had checked herself over a few times and could only see a couple of bruises forming. No broken bones. Likely her muscles were just a bit sore from pushing herself back up from the floor.

She had only sat down because she had grown dizzy as well. Now she is flipping idly through a pottery catalogue as she waited for the spell to pass. She hears her son plodding down the hall again, undoubtedly with another of his books in tow. She scoffs as she remembers his insistence that the words were impossibly garbled.

Until today, that is. He had cut in front of the telly as she was watching it through the kitchen passthrough. She’d been preparing a dough, as they had run out of bread the day before. Luanne had planned it so that her shows would be on as she kneaded the goop into a ball, and she could finish watching them as the dough rose.

She hadn’t expected her son to stand directly in front of the screen as he held a book up and stared at it in the mirror.

Now, she was used to a lot of half-witted ideas from him; he was a photography student, after all. Why would you pay that much money just to learn how to take pictures? He should have been able to figure that out for himself. But trying to read the books that he already couldn’t read backwards? That was a new level of ridiculousness.

She had told him to move out of the way, but he had stood transfixed. She sighed and went about her business. She could watch her recording of the show tomorrow morning.

Now she is sitting in the chair in her bedroom, waiting for a strange bout of vertigo to pass with a cup of her favourite whiskey in hand.

She hears her son flipping through the pages. Then the flipping stops.

“Too late for what?” he puzzles aloud. The flipping begins again, at a much more frantic pace.

“What is it too late for?” He sounds a little out of control now. She really should go help him settle down before he goes into a panic.

So she stands up.

And then falls down.

He hears the thud as she hits the shag carpeting.

“Mum?”

She doesn’t respond.

She doesn’t respond because she doesn’t hear him.

She doesn’t hear him as he drops the book, nor the second time he calls for her, nor as he’s slamming open the door.

She doesn’t hear her heart pounding so quickly and chaotically that it can’t fill with enough blood.

She doesn’t realize as her muscles start to twitch.

He does.

Samuel pulls out his phone and dials 999.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

Our fourth tale is titled: Sounds.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

Oliver has had an eventful day at school. In phys ed, his class won the relay race, and earned a tuffee each. He had gotten to choose first, and had found a Wham Bar. It was his favourite flavour, too: Sour Cherry. He chews on it thoughtfully as he walks home.

Over the smacking of his sweet, he can hear the sounds of the world all around him. He listens to the faint sound of a radio drifting from a passing car. He can tell that it is a man speaking, but the volume is down so low that he can’t tell what he’s saying, even though the window is rolled down. He wonders what the show was about.

As the car rumbles away, he hears a siren. There is a loud horn sound at the intersection he can see ahead, and he stops for a moment to watch as the yellow and green vehicle flashes past. An ambulance.

He wonders what had happened.

He doesn’t think about it for too long as his phone blips. It’s his mum. She wants him to go to Gran’s house and get a ride home from her. She wants to talk to him about something. His stomach turns as he remembers the little kid he had pushed down during recess earlier that day. For a moment, he thinks about ignoring the text.

Then he makes a decision.

He sets off towards Gran’s house. Better to go ahead and get this over with. He had already opened the text; Mum would know that he was lying if he said he hadn’t seen it. And he would be in so much more trouble than he already was.

Gran’s house was just one street over. He’s not sure whether this is lucky or unlucky. And he doesn’t really want to think about that. Whether or not he thinks it lucky is unimportant; he needs to clear his mind so he doesn’t dig himself in any further.

So he focuses again on the sounds around him.

He hears a radio again, this time from the open window of a house. It’s the same man speaking. This time he can hear what he’s saying. He stops for a moment to listen, scuffing his shoe on the sidewalk. The man is narrating what Oliver is doing. He thinks about how his name isn’t Oliver, so it can’t be him. He shudders as the man continues to speak. He really doesn’t like this.

So, he continues walking, glancing around for anyone following him, or any security cameras. He doesn’t see anything that looks suspicious. He can still faintly hear the man.

As he finally steps out of earshot, his heart is still racing. He is now very certain that he didn’t like any of that.

He wonders if the talk with his mum might be the least of his worries. The thought fills him with fear.

He crumples his Wham wrapper and slips it into his pocket. If something is following him, he doesn’t want it to collect anything.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

And now, we will hear a word from our sponsors.

_(music stops)_

**[MAN]** Are you having a party? Do you have all of the snacks and drinks? Do you have balloons?

Is the only thing you need now some kind of house?

We have the house for you! Studio flats, terraced houses, detached houses, mansions, bouncy houses, cottages, bungalows, haunted houses; if you can name it, we’ve got it!

Call now to get your house! The number is _(static)_ . Our lines are open from midnight to 6 AM every day! Once again, our number is _(static)_.

We look forward to your call!

_(the music returns softly, before quieting a bit. it continues under the following:)_

**[AVERY]** Welcome back to The Daily Saga. This is your host, Mr. Bright. We’ve heard four tales so far this evening, but we have a few more we’d like to share with you. Our fifth tale is titled: Pens.

_(a pause, during which the music grows slightly before quieting back)_

Nicky collects pens. Many people know this about them.

Not many people know why.

They can guess, and some of them might get it right, but they don’t really know.

It’s not about the colours.

And it’s not about the thickness of the lines.

It’s not even anything to do with the writing.

Sure, they’ll use the pens to write, but really the pen collection is much simpler:

They like to buy the pens. Searching the bins in the arts and crafts aisle gives them a particular thrill that they can’t find anywhere else. There’s something about the almost-literalization of the phrase “needle in a haystack” that just brings the experience to a level of surrealness.

And, of course, the low cost is much better than if they were to do the same with makeup.

Nicky is in the aisle of their favourite store right now, rifling through the brightly coloured pens and- _(the door to the studio creaks open)_

Sir, I thought we- oh, I’m sorry, uh, you’re not meant to come on when the red light-

**[POLICE 1]** Yeah, no, apologies, we need to talk to you about the death of Kathleen Hilderbrand-

**[AVERY]** Who?

**[POLICE 2]** I’m afraid you’re going to need to come with us.

**[AVERY]** Now wait just a minute- uh-

**[POLICE 1]** As it stands at the minute, you’re under arrest for the suspected murder of Kathleen Hilderbrand. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. 

_(distant footsteps approach. overlapping:)_

**[POLICE 1]** Now can you put your arms out, **[RACHEL]** Av- er, Mr. Bright, is ev-

we’ll need to put these on. OH MY GOD-

_(metal clinks)_

**[AVERY]** Hey, uh, could you switch the sound off, I didn’t get the chance to-

**[RACHEL]** Oh God, yeah, um, one second- uh, what’s goi-

_(click to music. it plays for a few seconds before stopping abruptly)_

**[RACHEL]** Uh, hi everybody, this is Rachel from your favourite station, taking over for Mr. Bright for the rest of tonight’s show. We won’t hear the end of his story just quite yet, and we’ll have to skip his usual Bright Question Hour, but we do have a few stories submitted by you, our wonderful listeners. This one is titled-

_(static as radio turns off.)_

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so this is about a month after avery started working at the radio station, and about a month after he became an avatar of the beholding. he comes in like "Oh I wrote and memorized this for tonight's show" but really he's just describing what he's Seeing at the moment. he doesn't use people's actual names because more fear
> 
> Bright Question Hour is his show on Wednesdays where he takes questions from callers and responds with what he Sees. it comes on right after The Daily Saga
> 
> the big thing that later eventually becomes a big reason why people will tune in out of Fear is that during this segment, he describes one death that actually happens
> 
> so yeah this is the first time the police were able to make the connection between his radio show and one of the deaths
> 
> the question is: is he just watching, or does he actually cause the deaths?
> 
> also watch out for more rachel, i love her and she will be getting her own stuff because i love her


End file.
